


Trust Issues

by izazov



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Gen, Pre-Thor (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love doesn't always equal trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Issues

For once in his life, Loki is actually grateful for being brought down on his knees. It makes it infinitely easier to hide his face, even if under the guise of catching his breath. It isn’t something he’s had to resort to often lately, having mastered the ability to school his expression into whatever suited him at any given moment. Right now, though, he can’t seem to even _think_ past the rage that has him gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into fists. It has been long since he’s felt _this_ angry at not quite meeting the standards set by Asgard’s warriors with their swords and shields. Swallowing yet another defeat in the training grounds is nothing new to him. What makes this defeat different is the bitter sting of betrayal.  
“It was a fine fight,” his brother says in his infuriatingly cheerful tone, not a trace of shame or anger marring his voice. “Next time the victory will surely be ours.”  
Closing his eyes, Loki takes a deep, calming breath, getting the majority of his feelings under control. It will do him no favors to lash out at Thor in front of his friends. There is already enough ill will between them. He gracefully gets up on his feet, pointedly ignoring Thor’s outstretched hand.  
“Congratulations on your victory. It was well deserved.” He says evenly, nodding curtly at Volstagg and Fandral, and if they feel the utter lack of sincerity on his part, they don’t show it. In fact, Loki notes with a small dose of curiosity and annoyance, there is a suspicious lack of triumph and boisterous barbs coming from the two. After all, one doesn’t have the privilege of knocking the mighty Thor face down in the dirt every day.  
With another nod, he turns on his heel, striding away from the training grounds, ignoring Thor’s confused cry of his name. He almost manages to reach the palace courtyard, when he is stopped by an unyielding grip on his wrist.  
“It was an honest defeat, brother,” Thor says, his face drawing into a frown. “There’s no honor to be gained in sulking like a spoiled child.”  
“An honest defeat?!” Loki repeats, incredulous. His anger, not really gone in the first place, rushes back, and, for a moment, he wishes for a chance to wield Mjölnir. A chance to bash his current owner to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. He settles for yanking his hand out of Thor’s grip. “It was never supposed to _be_ a defeat, you brainless oaf.”  
Thor blinks slowly, his struggle to remain calm obvious on his face. “What are you talking about, Loki?”  
There’s a hint of warning underneath the confusion in Thor’s voice, but if there ever was a time Loki wished for Thor to resort to his patented brand of ‘hit first, maybe ask questions later’, it was now. Words were Loki’s preferred weapon, but this white hot fury inside his chest screamed for a different outlet.  
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Loki demands, his voice barely shy of an outright scream. “Why didn’t you do what I told you to do?”  
The frown on Thor’s face deepens as he takes a step back, surprised by Loki’s outburst. “Loki,” he starts, rising his hands in a placating manner which only serves to make Loki angrier. “Why must you do this? We fought and we lost, there is nothing more to it.”  
“And why did we lose, Thor?” Loki says, his voice deceptively calm as he takes a step closer to Thor. “Tell me, brother, why did you do the _complete opposite_ of what I suggested?”  
Thor straightens his shoulders, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. Another warning, but Loki is too far gone to care. He wants – needs – the answer, even though he already knows what it is. He just wants Thor to say the words out loud.  
“Loki,” Thor tries again, a plea evident in his voice, even if his eyes stay hard. “You know how I feel about… about how you prefer to fight.”  
“So… _the mighty Thor_ ,” Loki spits out, his lips curving in a razor-sharp grin. “Would rather lose on his own terms than win on his pathetic little brother’s.”  
“Don’t,” Thor growls, and Loki allows himself a sense of triumph at the fire sparking in his brother’s eyes. “Don’t twist my words into weapons, Loki. I am your brother, not your enemy.”  
“Well, brother, then tell the truth since I am obviously incapable of deciphering the intricate patterns of your mind,” Loki says, the look in his eyes the complete opposite to the light, mocking tone of his voice. He’s angry, angrier than he remembers himself ever being, but there’s something else underneath the anger. He knows that feeling well. It’s a weakness he hates himself for, a pathetic need to please, to fit all his sharp, irregular angles into a mold that suits Thor so perfectly.  
Thor huffs out a frustrated sigh, rising his hands in resignation. “I’ll come to see you once you’ve calmed your spirit, brother. I fear no good will come out of this conversation.”  
Loki allows Thor three steps, his grin widening as he watches Thor’s retreating back. _It’s not going to be_ that _easy, brother_. And really, it’s a constant mystery to Loki, how they all call him Silvertongue, and then look truly shocked when he acts the part.  
“I truly regret that I am the only one here to see this, brother,” he calls after Thor. “To see the Crown Prince of Asgard, running away like a coward.”  
It’s almost _too_ easy.  
Predictably, Thor freezes in his tracks, and Loki has only a moment of triumph, before finding himself hovering an inch above the ground, staring at his brother’s enraged face. “ _Enough_ ,” Thor grits out, his hands tightening around the lapels of Loki’s coat. “You wish to know why I haven’t heeded your advice today? Because it would be cheating. And I would rather lose with honor, than win by resorting to cowardly tricks.”  
This is nothing Loki hasn’t heard – one way, or another – many times before, but never out of Thor’s mouth. And it’s not like this isn’t what Loki has forced – goaded – Thor into saying, but, now, with those words between them, Loki cannot seem to remember why. What was the point of this? It’s not triumph, because he feels none. Nor is it a silly notion of righteous indignation, because he doesn’t even believe in it. Maybe there was no point to this at all. It’s certainly what he feels right now.  
 _Nothing_.  
“Put me down,” he demands in a flat voice. Thor obeys instantly, taking a step back. There’s a look of shock and regret on Thor’s face, and it looks almost comical on his brother’s usually confident face, but Loki finds no comfort in it.  
“Loki, I didn’t…”  
“Don’t, Thor,” Loki stops him impatiently. He really has no desire to listen to Thor’s mumbling excuses. After all, he’d said nothing but the truth. “Let’s leave lying to me, your talents lie elsewhere.”  
Shaking his head, Loki allows himself a small, bitter smile. “I know it’s a difficult concept for you to grasp, Thor, but it’s not cheating simply because you can’t do it… I really wish you’d trusted me today, brother.”  
With that, Loki turns to go, but he makes only two steps. It’s a petty cruelty, he knows this, but he doesn’t even try to stop himself. “Oh, Thor? Next time when you need a partner, I suggest you choose Sif. I’m positive the two of you will bludgeon your opponents with great honor.”  
Thor doesn’t try to stop him from leaving this time, and a small part of Loki hates him for it.

 

If anyone saw him – sitting alone in the dark, staring at a small, flickering flame hovering above his right hand – they would probably call it brooding. Or sulking. They would most certainly make sure to avoid his company. Loki’s recent notoriety has at least earned him that – a privilege of solitude and peace. There is only one person foolish – or careless – enough to disturb him, but he hasn’t seen Thor since their confrontation, and that’s been three days ago. He has yet to decide whether to feel grateful or annoyed.  
“It was one of the first spells you have learned,” comes the soft voice from behind him, almost making him jump. “I still remember the look on your tiny face when you’d made it work.”  
There are actually two people who wouldn’t ever hesitate to disturb him, but only one is always welcome.  
“Mother,” Loki says, extinguishing the tiny flame with a flick of his wrist, quickly rising to his feet to greet the Queen of Asgard. Bringing her hand to his lips, Loki’s lips curve into a mischievous smile. “You look as beautiful as ever, but could you, please, stop referring to my face as tiny. I have grown a bit in the last couple of centuries.”  
“Nonsense,” Frigga says with a dismissive wave of her hand as she takes a seat opposite to Loki. “You will always be my precious baby boy.”  
“And that is possibly the worst thing a grown man could hear,” Loki says, feigning exasperation. His feelings towards Thor – and especially Odin – are a complex labyrinth of affection, envy and resentment, but there is nothing complex about what he feels for his mother. It’s love, pure and simple.  
Frigga’s laughter comes out completely unapologetic. “I’m your mother, it’s a curse that comes with it. I will always see you as a child.”  
“Then what do you say about a compromise? I remain your baby boy when we are alone, but not in the company of others. Never in the company of others. No matter the company.”  
“As you wish, my Prince,” Frigga says, her lips curving into an almost identical grin to that of her younger son. “You were always the diplomat of the family.”  
“Well, if Thor had his way, Mjölnir would… ” Loki starts, but promptly stops himself, the smile freezing on his lips. Oh. He didn’t even see the trap. Shaking his head, he sighs in defeat. “I’ve yet to surpass _you_ , Mother.”  
“Can you blame me?” Frigga asks, playfulness completely gone from her face, concern and steely determination taking its place. “What is a mother supposed to do when her children continue to drift apart? To stand aside and let it happen?”  
“And how can we not?” Loki forces through clenched teeth, bitterness and hurt lacing each word. Rising to his feet, he flicks his wrist, conjuring another flame. “ _This_ is what I’m good at. This is what I’ll ever be good at. And that will _never_ be good enough for Thor.”  
He doesn’t say Father. That… is a wound not even Loki dares to pick at. Pressing his lips together in disgust, Loki closes his hand around the flame, making it disappear.  
Frigga only looks at him for a long moment. Suddenly, before Loki even sees her move, she has her arms around him, pulling his head down to her shoulder. Loki allows it. He loves his mother unconditionally, but he hates to cry even in front of her. And he can’t stop himself. It is nothing but silly sentimentality, a weakness he has no control over, no matter how hard he tries. “You foolish, foolish boy,” she whispers, running her hands soothingly through his hair. “Your brother loves you more than anyone. More than your father. More than me.”  
“But…” Loki starts to protest, but Frigga stops him with a hand on his lips.  
“You two are brothers, but you are also two different people, not identical copies of each other,” she says softly, but there is steel underneath the velvet of her voice. “Thor may not like or understand your affinity for magic, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. You have certainly gone out of your way to publicly shame him more than once. Does it mean you don’t love your brother?”  
“No,” Loki whispers after a moment. “No, it doesn’t.”  
And maybe that is the heart of the problem. His life would be so much easier if he didn’t love his brother. It would certainly hurt less.

 

“Come with me.”  
Taking his time, Loki looks up from the book he’s reading, insults dying on his lips as he takes in Thor’s appearance. His brother looks less than his usual shiny, bigger-than-life self. It’s not because of his rumpled, dirty clothing. Nor does the large cut on his forehead has anything to do with it. Loki has been on enough foolish hero trips with Thor to know that his brother always seemed to look his best when in the middle of a fight. No, it’s something else. A certain weariness marring Thor’s features. The kind that has nothing with physical exhaustion. Loki can’t help a pang of petty, childish glee at the thought of Thor being equally troubled as Loki with their recent falling out. It’s also almost enough to compensate for Thor barging into his room, but not nearly enough for his brother’s audacity in thinking he can command him as if he was one of his sycophants.  
“Manners, Thor, they _do_ matter,” he says sweetly, making a display of getting himself more comfortable in his seat. “It is customary to knock when entering someone’s personal quarters. Also, I hear there is such a thing as greeting.”  
Thor refuses to rise to his bait, the only show of annoyance a slight tightening of his fists by his sides.  
“We can discuss manners later, Loki,” he says, the resolute note of his voice setting off all Loki’s alarm bells. “Now come with me. And bring your daggers.”  
With that, Thor turns and strides out of Loki’s room, leaving Loki to stare at his retreating back, annoyance and alarm fighting for dominance in his mind.  
Loki knows that he could simply not do what Thor demanded – and it was a demand, much to his annoyance – of him, but he’s seen Thor in this mood once or twice. Not complying with his desires when he gets like this, only ends in Loki’s headache, blood and broken furniture. Also, there’s a large part of Loki that is almost dying of curiosity to see what is this all about.  
Leaving the book discarded on the table, Loki hesitates only a moment before pulling out his daggers and tucking them behind his belt. When he finally exits his room, Thor is nowhere in sight. Cursing his own stupidity as much as his brother’s arrogance, Loki breaks into a run.  
It takes him a few wrong turns before he finally resorts to magic to determine Thor’s location. When he gets the clear picture of Thor – striding down the very familiar path, not even looking back to see whether or not Loki is following – Loki’s annoyance rapidly turns to anger. But still he follows his brother.

 

When Loki finally arrives at the training grounds, Thor is already there, standing still next to one of the wooden training dummies, Mjölnir lying abandoned on the ground a couple of steps away.  
And they are all alone.  
Loki has no idea what to make of this situation, and it is making him nervous. He’s not used to be the one in the dark, with Thor having the upper hand.  
“If you wanted someone to bludgeon in compensation for your failed hunting trip, brother, you should have tried Volstagg or Fandral. As you seem to recall, I _cheat_.” Loki says acidly, nearly spitting out the last word, but Thor still refuses to react. It makes Loki’s fingers itch with the desire to wrap themselves around the handle of his dagger. _Or_ Thor’s neck.  
For a long moment, nothing happens. Neither of them makes a move, both of them simply standing still and holding each other’s gazes as if their lives depended on it. Surprisingly, it’s Loki who concedes defeat.  
“While this has been fun, Thor,” he says bitingly, turning to leave. “I do have an important research to go back to. Next time, when you think of gracing me with an invitation to a staring match, just… _don’t_.”  
“Wait!” Thor calls after him, a hint of something almost like panic in his voice. Loki wants to ignore it. He even tries to ignore it, but he only manages two steps before turning around, his shoulders sagging in defeat.  
“Thor, you honestly… _What_ are you doing?” Loki asks carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and alarm at the sight of a thin scrap of red fabric hanging loosely from Thor’s outstretched hand.  
“Take it.”  
Loki doesn’t. He simply stands rooted to the spot, his gaze wandering from the fabric to Thor’s face, and back again. He’s not angry anymore, but the dread that’s steadily rising from the pit of his stomach is not exactly an improvement. Loki hasn’t been in control of this encounter from the moment he followed Thor here, but now he feels like he’s walking on thin ice, and it could crack at any given moment. “Honestly, Thor, what game are you playing?”  
 _Whatever it is,_ please, _stop it right now_.  
Losing patience with Loki, Thor takes the decision completely out of Loki’s hands. In two long strides, he crosses the space that separates them, forcibly pushing the fabric into Loki’s right hand, closing his fingers around it.  
A part of Loki’s mind finds this entire situation almost unbelievably comical. It’s only a small part, though. The much larger one is trying to divine why did his brother – after calling him a coward and a cheat, then disappearing for days – choose to play some bizarre game instead of an apology.  
 _The truth is almost always simple, you fool. Maybe he_ doesn’t _feel sorry_.  
“Put it on.”  
Loki snaps his head up, dragging his eyes from the fabric in his hand, his gaze settling on Thor, now standing directly in front of the training dummy, staring at Loki with unwavering eyes.  
Oh.  
“You’re mad,” Loki breathes out, horrified, realization finally dawning in. “Since when are you suicidal?”  
A corner of Thor’s lips twitches in a beginning of a smile. But it’s a small, sad smile, and it looks wrong on Thor’s face. “I’m only suicidal if you want me dead, brother.”  
Loki only stares at Thor, and for one long moment, he cannot think of a single thing to say. “You arrogant fool,” he finally manages to force out past the anger that has him almost incapable of forming words. “What is this supposed to prove? Is the almighty Thor so above a simple apology that…”  
“I am sorry, Loki,” Thor says simply, and once again – too many times in a single day – Loki finds himself at a loss for words. “I was a fool, and I should have listened to you, but this isn’t about that.”  
“Then what is this charade all about, Thor?” Loki demands, his voice barely – just barely – not breaking into a sob. “You’re mad if you think I’ll do what you’ve dragged me here to do. If you want someone to throw sharp objects at your head, go and find Sif and try to dazzle her with your sparkling wit.”  
“I fear your magic, Loki” Thor says softly, ignoring Loki’s outburst. Loki almost misses the words, his heart thundering wildly in his ears. “And I don’t like it. It… it takes you away, and sometimes I don’t even recognize you. I just… I just want my brother back.”  
“And I want my brother to be proud of me,” Loki says resignedly, a single tear slipping from the corner of his right eye. It hurts to say the words out loud. To admit his pathetic need for approval.  
“I _am_ proud of you,” Thor exclaims, desperation lacing his words.  
Loki snorts. Only his brother is capable of claiming two complete opposites in the space of a few moments. And do it looking so earnestly. “You honestly wish me to believe that you’re proud of the one everyone calls Liesmith and Trickster? After what you yourself have just admitted?” He wants the words to come out biting, but he’s too tired – too hurt – to make an effort. And really, he needs to ends this before he makes an even bigger fool of himself in front of Thor. If that is even possible anymore.  
Thor growls, shaking his head in exasperation. “You are the most annoying, stubborn…” he starts, but stops himself abruptly.  
Before Loki has a chance to say a word, Thor has already crossed the space between them, his hands gripping Loki by the back of his neck, bringing their faces close enough to feel each other breaths.  
“For once, simply hold your tongue and listen to me. I’m proud of your wit and your mind. I’m not fond of how you sometimes use them to make me look a fool, but that is my shortcoming,” Thor says solemnly, each word punctuated by the tightening of his fingers on the back of Loki’s neck, almost as if he wants to imprint the words onto Loki’s mind. “You may not wield most weapons as well as I do, but you are the most skilled fighter in Asgard when it comes to daggers. And, no matter my feelings on the matter, your magic has aided us many times in the past.”  
Taking a deep breath, Thor smiles wistfully. “I don’t possess your skill with words, Loki, but what I’m trying to say is that you’re the one person I value the most. And I _do_ trust you. I trust you with my life.”  
With that, Thor releases his hold on Loki, returning to where he’s been standing, a smile – wide and bright – flashing on his face before it settles into a solemn expression.  
Loki closes his eyes for a moment. Tears are sliding freely down his cheeks, but he’s not ashamed of them. For once, he welcomes them as they wash away the bitter, poisonous weight of envy and resentment that’s been lodged inside his chest for so long.  
His tears notwithstanding, Loki isn’t so sentimental to think that everything had been resolved. There are still many issues between them. But, as he rises the fabric to his eyes, his lips twitching in amusement as he recognizes it as a torn part of Thor’s cape, Loki is sure they have made the first step. And it feels good.  
It feels _wonderful_ to have his brother back.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't exist if not for this [amazing art](http://izazov.tumblr.com/post/84628544110/oriental-lady-lets-talk-about-reliance/).


End file.
